The Doctor's Room
by Laura Fones
Summary: In response to daysgoneby's prompt for the Doctor/Rose Holiday Fixathon, "When the Doctor opens up room number 11 during The God Complex, he sees Rose Tyler sitting on the bed, smiling that smile."


Title: The Doctor's Room

Author: Laura Fones

Pairing: 11/Rose

Rating: All ages.

Summary: In response to daysgoneby's prompt for the Doctor/Rose Holiday Fixathon, "When the Doctor opens up room number 11 during The God Complex, he sees Rose Tyler sitting on the bed, smiling _that_ smile."

Disclaimer: Obviously, I own nothing.

Author's Note: First Doctor Who fic, despite being an avid Rose/Doctor shipper. Please enjoy.

The Doctor stood in the yellow corridor of the nightmare hotel and felt its pull. Something familiar whispered to him—a physical whisper, if that was possible—from behind, and pulled his eyes to the corner of the corridor. To door 11.

This hotel was an impossible relic from Earth's 1980's, constructed by a monstrous alien consciousness. Here, everything seemed alive and dead, blue and yellow, fearful and religious. He approached the door that had whispered to him.

The red placard, marked "11," reflected his face.

He knew that he should not open it. Knew that others had died because they opened a door. Knew that whatever stood behind it would drive him mad.

Death and madness were hardly as bad as not knowing.

He pushed open the door and looked. The bed cover had the insidious red floral pattern of roadside motels and the bedside table, an unremarkable brown color, probably contained a Bible. These details allowed him, momentarily, to distract his brilliant mind from the glaring impossibility of the room's occupant: Rose Tyler.

Grinning hugely, blonde until the roots, encased in jeans, and perfect: Rose Tyler. His eyes fluttered dizzily. Her smile burned.

"Of course," his face fell into exhausted, sheepish bliss. "Who else?"

He considered running, as he'd always done. But something in her now-quizzical expression, her bright hazel eyes, and her hopeful declaration of, "Doctor," made him enter instead.

"Oh, Rose," he whispered. "You can't be here."

He said the words, hoping to believe them. He understood them—knew intellectually that they were true—but his two hearts protested and the chorus of his former selves declared, unequivocally, that he should give in. However true the words, what he _believed_ in was her.

The door closed behind him. Had he done that?

Rose rushed to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Of course I'm here," she said breathlessly, "I'm wherever you are. It's the only place I want to be."

The Doctor fought his body's instinct to hug her back. This body had never touched Rose and its reaction to her was…complicated.

She hung on his neck, un-hugged, staring into his newly green eyes. "You look different," she said.

"You look identical," he said. "But, then, I suppose you would."

"Not a Time Lord." She smiled widely, "Just a girl."

"Naw, I've met loads of 'just girls'…" The Doctor's hands began to creep to her sides, ready to pull her in. But he became aware of it, and sprung backward, breaking her hold.

She looked hurt, "Doctor, what's wrong?"

"This room is wrong," he said. "This whole place is wrong."

"I don't understand."

"How could you understand? You're just a projection, pulled out of my mind, and I don't understand yet…"

"I'm not a projection, Doctor. What are you talking about?"

"But, it's right. A part of this is right. You, being here, for me, in this room, in this nightmare place, _this_ is right."

Her eyebrows knit together. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

"No," he lied. "I just know that it couldn't have been anyone else here, for me."

Her eyelids fluttered, fighting tears. But instead of crying, she asked, "What is supposed to be here? Why is me, being here, so right?"

He couldn't help feeling some momentary pleasure. Clearly, his memories had been extracted faithfully. This was Rose, driven by concern and curiosity. This was Rose, perfect and golden. Rose didn't ask for apologies when she knew larger issues were at stake.

"These rooms contain the things that scare us most. We're in…some kind of prison and the warden feeds on fear."

"I _scare_ you?" Rose placed a hand on her stomach, as though she had just been hit. The salty, grey winds of Bad Wolf Bay flashed in his memory.

"Needing you…" he chuckled self-deprecatingly, "That's what...well, you know."

"Hold me?" She asked, offering him a hand. "You don't need to need me anymore."

"Oh, but I do, Rose Tyler," He had said that name so few times with this new mouth. The mouth halted on it, hitched, produced ever-new emotions. "I need you so much. That's the one thing I cannot stop, however clever I get. Enemies, I can fight. Death, I can defer. A million boogie men in the universe and when it comes down to it, the only thing that's ever been real to me—tangible and frightening, completely beyond escape—is you. You made me complete. And that's why you're in this room: losing you is my greatest fear, realized."

"So, don't leave the room. Don't lose me."

His hearts hiccupped. Or, it felt like they did. A moment of profound bliss came over him: the catharsis of telling Rose Tyler the truth. Something he couldn't do if it had mattered; something as impossible as Olympus; like communing with the god of his idolatry.

"Praise him," the Doctor whispered.

Rose smiled at him; _that_ smile. It was too much.

He pulled her close and kissed her unreservedly. His body was uncertain and hers was familiar and the only thing that mattered was how peaceful his soul felt. It was the sensation of home and of adventure and of perfect, mortal happiness.

It was rapture, and he knew what that meant.

He broke the kiss. He forced his body away from her and forced his mind to work. He fumbled with the doorknob and caught his hand in the hanging placard. One side politely requested maid service.

"Doctor, don't go," pleaded Rose. "I don't want you to be alone."

The door seemed locked, "I'm always alone. And that's fine. Because you aren't."

"But I'm not with _you_." She began to advance on him. He struggled with the doorknob, while still facing her. He pulled out his sonic screwdriver and turned it on the knob.

"But you are; the real you. I saw to it." He breathed a sigh of relief as he heard the lock click and turned the handle.

"I _am_ real." She insisted.

His heart broke a little when he looked at her freshly kissed face. It was a face he'd never get to see in reality. "You know how I know you're not Rose?"

"How?" Her voice cracked.

"You wouldn't have recognized me." He slipped out of the door and closed it, praying to would lock.

He delayed for a second, evaluated whether the fantasy of Rose was worse than no Rose at all. The second dragged into two and he decided. He couldn't go back, even if he _needed_ to go back.

The hanging placard was still in his hand. He placed it on the doorknob and walked away.

To the empty corridor, it declared: Do Not Disturb.

THE END


End file.
